Heathen
Take note of these splinters of rough shale and bone
Each numbered and labelled here
Safe behind toughened glass
For these now redundant relics were
Most surely once
State of art technology and designed to steal breath
Take note too of these ancient tallow proofed
Water stained and warmed cave walls
Where back in the day we lived and hunted
Yes how we lived and roamed and loved
Until our hearts and our bellies were contented
It was here that once magnificent beasts
As big as London buses so they were
Did roam free
Now though I see only ghosts of them
In smoke from long house chimneys
Yet it is here I still see and taste a flake
Of you my love
Here too where a slice of me remains
Mid these clay masks and Coptic jars
Each filled with dried black blood and honey
Now sealed for eternity
It is here I see bronze nails and glass beads strewn
My old obsidian blade discarded
A single broken femur gnawed and drilled through
Here and there shards of painted pot remain
Fur and feathers have long since gone though
And although our residue and ancient DNA
Is still openly displayed precisely where we left it
It does not feel right nor like our home
Tis here my love they queue to stare through
Toughened glass and still they dare to call us both
Primitive and heathen